


Custard Creams

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baking, Custard Creams, Dumbledore's Armada: The Great Hogwarts Cook-Off Flash Fiction Comp, Established Relationship, F/M, Flash Fic, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Can't Bake, POV Hermione Granger, Quickie, Relationship Issues, Sexual Content, Smut, Smut and Fluff, Soft Draco Malfoy, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26096836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Hermione was trying to bake some custard creams. It wasn't sweet enough and Draco agrees.Posted for Dumbledore's Armada: The Great Hogwarts Cook-Off Flash Fiction Comp
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 110
Collections: Dumbledore's Armada: The Great Hogwarts Cook-Off Flash Fiction Comp





	Custard Creams

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Great_Hogwarts_CookOff_FF_Comp](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Great_Hogwarts_CookOff_FF_Comp) collection. 



> **Author's Note  
> **  
>  As always, special love and thanks to my wonderful beta [ Takingflight48](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Takingflight48)  
> Thank you for the lovely mood board, [Kiwi05622](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwi05622/works)!  
>  **Prompt:** Custard Creams

She huffed in frustration as she hand-whipped the custard cream with the tiny whisk. Whoever said baking was a relaxing hobby needed to get their head checked at St. Mungo’s. She stared at her supposed custard cream that was looking more like _custard soup_ and feeling a further loss in confidence she couldn’t afford if she still wanted to make the accompanying biscuits. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Draco said with a tone so cold it would put glaciers to shame. He stopped next to her and she could feel his piercing glare.

She muttered a quiet curse for forgetting to reset her wards as she continued to beat her custard _soup_ perhaps a bit more briskly than necessary. 

He placed his hand on top of hers, stopping her movement, but her grip on the whisk tightened.

“I was on the last step,” she said, this time meeting his eyes with a raised brow.

His nostril flared, and he squared his shoulders, facing her with narrowed eyes. “I’m sure it can wait.”

She rolled her eyes, and shook his hand off, picking up the bowl before fully facing the intruder. “The note should be more than sufficient to relay my intention.”

He wrinkled his nose and brought her note in front of his face. She never understood why he had to be so theatrical with the most mundane of actions. “We are done,” he read out slowly.

“Wonderful, he can read,” she drawled out before taking out her wand and cast a cooling charm on the batch. Perhaps the cream would thicken once cooled.

“Could you just – _bloody hell_ – what are you making that’s so much more important than this?” his voice rose a notch higher as his hands wildly gesticulated between them.

Her nose scrunched up at the yellow goop that was still too runny. “Custard creams,” she answered with a defeated sigh.

He paused to look around then muttered, “Where are the biscuits?”

Her spine straightened and she sneered at him as she felt the heat emanating from her cheeks. “That was next before you barged in. Now, if you’ll excuse me, kindly escort your arse out of my flat.”

The note trembled in his hand before he balled it up and wordlessly cast an _incendio_. The note burst into flames between them until flakes of ash mingled with the dust motes in the air. “No, we need to talk.”

She gnashed her teeth, trying to hold back some choice words she had for him. “You want to talk about it?” her voice barely rose above a whisper. “Fine! Let’s talk about the fact that you’re so bloody ashamed of our relationship!” Her throat constricted, the first sign that she would soon turn into a sobbing mess.

“I’m not ashamed-”

She clutched the bowl closer to her chest, “You are!” she finally yelled. “You didn’t tell anyone for months. You don’t want me to tell anyone! Not even my closest friends!”

“So, you thought a note-“

“What are you so ashamed of? Is it my blood status-” her voice pitched into a near manic shrill.

His brows knit together as his head cocked slightly to the left, “Blood status?” 

She responded with a derisive laugh, “Oh, don’t play dumb, your mother pinches her nose every time-”

He took a step forward, and her neck strained to maintain her glare into his granite coloured eyes. “Don’t bring my mother-”

“Why is it that when you feel a single _iota_ of discomfort-”

“Bloody hell! Will you let me finish a single sentence uninterrupted?” His mask of indifference shattered under the weight of his anger. His hair began to sprout flyaways while the air thickened as their magic battled for dominance. Her ears rang, a high pitched hum caused her gut to twist in discomfort. 

Her hands trembled, contemplating between chucking the bowl at his face or _disapparating_ in front of him with the two-finger salute. Before she could decide, her _magic_ created a spectacular custard cream explosion while they stood in the prime splatter zone. She stood mortified as she felt the cream sop throughout her clothes and hair.

She watched Draco blink slowly, each drop of his eyelids clearing out his stormy eyes. He curled his bottom lips inwards then smacked his lips twice. “I think this may need a bit more sugar,” his lips slowly morphed into a crooked grin. His eyes sparkled into quicksilver that promised mischief. Like a broken windup toy, her shoulders sagged and the corner of her lip tilted upwards.

“I think it needs a bit more than sugar,” she gently swiped the custard cream dripping from his chin with her thumb. “It’s a bit runny and I think maybe I added too much-”

His hands engulfed her face, tilted it up gently towards him and brushed his lips against hers. 

She unceremoniously dropped the bowl that had been wedged between them and tugged on his tie. He stepped in closer before he dipped down to kiss her wholly and slowly. He brushed his tongue along her bottom lip. When she tugged on his tie harder for more, his hands roamed down to her hips and pulled her body flush against him.

It was lips, tongues, and teeth, and she idly considered, as he pushed her against the wall and heard his belt buckle clink open, that their relationship started just like this.

Her legs naturally hooked around his waist as he trailed open-mouthed kisses along the side of her neck. His hand hovered over the button of her jeans, waiting for her permission to go further. A small thrust of her hips was all she gave him before he took out his wand, vanishing her jeans and knickers.

He pressed his hardened length along her folds and rubbed once, twice, before he entered her with ease. She felt the sharp sting of being stretched so quickly before it morphed into pleasure. She knew she should stop this. She knew they were dancing the same tune by rote.

She felt light-headed as their kisses stole their air and her thoughts grew into shapeless shadows.

“Don’t leave,” he gasped against her cheek as his thrusts slowed. Their conjoined bodies were barely an inch apart before he drove back in, up to the hilt. He repeated the motion over and over again, and she trembled as she felt the familiar tingle crawling from her spine out towards the tip of her toes.

“Don’t leave,” a hint of urgency bled into his tone as he picked up his pace once more. She grabbed his shoulder tightly, nails digging so deeply they would surely leave a smattering of crescent moon marks behind. As the slapping of their bodies echoed around the kitchen her exhales transformed into a staccato of moans crescendoing into a scream.

That rush of pleasure left her breathless. She tightened her legs around his waist to limit his movement as she rode out the waves of pleasure he pulled through her. She felt his short puffs of breath against her ear, and after one hard, final thrust, he muffled his moans against the crook of her neck, leaving his cream deep inside her.

She dropped her head against his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight. 

“It’s not sweet enough,” she said weakly, unwilling to meet his eyes. “It should’ve been simple, and I followed the steps, yet it’s a lot more difficult than I thought.” She felt his member slip out of her, but he still held her close. “I’m at a loss,” she sighed wearily.

He remained quiet although he showed no signs of letting her go. Drawing in a breath for courage, she slowly lifted her head from his shoulder and looked into his eyes to search for an answer, any answer.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, “You’re right, it needs to be sweeter.” He kissed the other corner of her mouth, “I just…” his words drifted off, lost in his stormy grey eyes.

“I want to share this with Harry and Ron next week,” she blurted out. She held his gaze, “Even if it’s not sweet.”

His brows knit together and her body slowly slid down his as he loosened his grip. Her legs unwound from his waist, and her feet found purchase on the floor. She watched him tuck himself away and pull out his wand. Each of his silent movements brought her closer to tears as her heart splintered in two. She felt his _scourgify_ hit her and she bit down on her bottom lip. She dropped her head, refusing to cry until he turned away and left her hanging once again.

“I don’t think you’re going to perfect the Custard Creams by then. I suggest we just buy the bloody thing when _we_ meet Potter and Weasley.”

Her head jerked up to meet his crooked grin, “You’re such a prat,” she sniffed as she smacked his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Please drop a comment/concrit; I would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
>   
>   
> 


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